


You're In My Veins (and I cannot get you out)

by losingmymindtonight



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Like, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Sleepy Cuddles, That's it, Tony Stark Has A Heart, a major dad, and I whump Peter because that's what I do, basically alien stuff happens and Peter hears all of Tony's thoughts about him, i love you leah, no purpose, oh and, that's the plot, this has no plot, this is a birthday present for my bb LEah, tony stark is such a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 20:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15104549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingmymindtonight/pseuds/losingmymindtonight
Summary: Peter and Tony get hit by an alien explosion that allows Peter to hear everything Tony is thinking about him. Fluff, whump, and sleepiness ensue.





	You're In My Veins (and I cannot get you out)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckets_Of_Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/gifts).



> Happy (belated) Birthday Leah! Here’s that idea you threw into the groupchat a month ago and probably forgot about. I’m sorry it’s late! I ended up scrapping like ALL of it yesterday and completely rewriting it because I hate myself. I wish I had something better to offer you, because you deserve something 400x more amazing than this, but hopefully this little fic will do!  
> For everyone’s reference, Bruce is here but Thor isn’t. Why? Because I needed him.   
> Just a PSA: if you're looking for something of literary merit, this is not your fic. I finished and edited it drunk, for god's sake. Please be nice to me.  
> Now: behold me attempting to hit all of my friend’s kinks in the span of 2,000ish words.

Tony hates aliens.

He really, _really_ hates them.

“Tony! Look left!”

He ducks low at Steve’s shout, just barely missing the blast from an alien laser cannon.

“Wow!” Peter’s voice crackles through the comms. He sounds slightly breathless, but otherwise as chipper as always. _Safe. Unharmed. Good._ “Mister Stark, did you see that? These guys have straight up blasters! Like in Star Wars!”

Despite the situation, he shakes his head fondly at the kid’s out-of-place enthusiasm. “Yeah, Pete. Just like Star Wars.” He sees the teenager flash briefly in his peripheral vision, the _snick_ of a webshooter and a blur of red and blue. “You good?”

“I’m good!” Tony tries to shoot a repulser blast into an alien’s face, misses, and drives a metal fist into its skull instead. “This is awesome!”

_Only Peter._

“Sure, kid. Just watch your back, okay?”

_Please stay safe. Please be careful._

“Don’t worry about me, Mister Stark!”

_As if it’s that easy to turn on and off, Peter._

“I’m not worried about you. I know you can handle yourself.”

_I’m fucking terrified._

For a while, he gets so caught up in the flow of battle that he loses track of the kid. When he notices that he’s been unnervingly silent for a while, however, he hovers over the chaos and searches for him, only barely keeping a lid on the overwhelming chaos of his borderline parental panic filling up every inch of his body.

“Pete? Report, Pete.”

“Oh, hey Mister Stark.” The kid’s voice is strained. “Could I, uh, maybe get some help?”

In an instant, his concern goes from nagging discomfort to full-blown, all-consuming terror. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., get me his location.” The kid’s tracker pegs him about a block away, pinned down in an alley swarming with alien heat signatures. _Shit_.

“I’m coming, squirt. Hang in there.”

Peter gives a burdened laugh. “Hang in there. It’s funny. ‘Cause ’m, you know,” Tony hears a blaster fire through the comms and the teenager gasps, “S-Spider-Man. I do, uh, a-a lot of hanging.”

_He’s hurt. That’s his ‘I’m hurt and I’m scared and I want you to fix it but I’m too brave to ask’ voice._

“Yeah, buddy, you do.” He drops into the alley and sends a blast straight through the alien closest to his kid. “Hey there, Spiderling.”

Peter slumps against the dirty brick wall in relief, hands pressed to the left side of his stomach. “Hey, Mister Stark. ‘S good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, kiddo.” He fought his way through the throng of aliens until he was an iron wall between them and the teenager. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., have Karen give me a report on his injuries.”

“Mister Parker has a moderate concussion, three fractured ribs, multiple contusions and abrasions, and what appears to be a severe burn wound to his lower left abdomen.”

_Oh, Peter._

It only takes him a handful of adrenaline-fueled minutes to have the alley littered with downed and twitching aliens. As soon as the final body drops, he’s retracting the suit’s gauntlets and rushing to check on his kid.

“Peter!” His eyes zero in on the way the teenager’s bloodstained hands tremble against the tear in his suit. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. Bruce’ll fix you right up, and then we’ll order takeout and watch Star Wars and come up with a _really_ good excuse to feed your Aunt, okay?”

He was so focused on slinging Peter’s arm over his shoulders and guiding him away from the wall that he didn’t even notice one of the previously prone aliens shift and throw the grenade until it was too late. By the time he recognized the small, metal ball as a threat, he only had time to fling himself over the kid as the blast shook through the alley.

His last coherent thought was of Peter.

\--

He regains consciousness on a gasp and a name.

“Peter.”

The kid in question is splayed out underneath him, masked face tilted to the side and limbs sprawled aimlessly across the pavement. From his position, Tony can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

He hauls his aching body up and off the teenager, hastily staggering to his feet and disengaging the armor. He falls onto his knees and cups Peter’s cheek through the thin fabric of his mask, giving his shoulder a simultaneous shake.

_Oh my god, Peter. Why isn’t he moving? He’d gotten hurt, right? Shit. Yeah, he’s hurt. His side. I need to check his side. I need to wake him up. I need to-_

He tugs his mask off gently. Peter’s face is pale. Blood runs down the side of his chin from a split lip, and Tony brushes some of it away with the pad of his thumb before tapping his cheek. The shadow of a bruise is forming on his left temple. “Hey, kid. You need to wake up, okay?”

Peter’s face creases and then relaxes. Blearily, his eyelids flicker open and unfocused pupils settle on Tony’s face. “T’ny?”

His heart constricts at the slurred version of his name. “Yeah, buddy, I’m right here.” Peter blinks at him lethargically. “You’re okay.”

_Peter. Peter. Peter._

The kid winces, then smiles. “Yeah. ‘S my name.”

_What?_

He runs his fingers through the kid’s sweaty hair and shushes him gently. “I didn’t say your name, kiddo.”

Peter’s brow furrows in confusion. “Did, Mis’er Stark. Three times.”

_Shit. The blast must have worsened the concussion, right? That’s why he’s hearing stuff?_

“Stop worrying. ‘S hurting my head.” The kid flails a bleary hand towards his face. Tony catches it and holds on tight. “And ‘m hearing stuff ‘cause you’re saying stuff.”

_Can he… hear what I’m thinking?_

“Peter? What did I just say?”

“Huh?” A few blinks. “Uh, concussion? Think ’m hearing stuff because of that?”

_What the fuck?_

“I didn’t say that, kiddie, but I _did_ think it.”

It takes Peter a few breaths to process that. “So… ‘m I in your head?”

“That or I’m in yours.” He shoves his confusion away for later. “Okay. First things first, you need to get checked over. F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Can you call Bruce?”

“Doctor Banner is already en route.”

Gratitude flares through him for the AI. “Thank you, FRI.”

He pulls his attention back to the kid. The concussion is obvious. Blown pupils, sluggish responses, slurred words. There’s nothing he can do besides keep the kid still and wait for Bruce. He _can_ , however, triage the burn. He tugs at the already torn fabric surrounding the wound, widening the hole, and Peter hisses in response. “I’m so sorry, buddy, but I have to check this.”

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. My fault. My fault. God, it’s all my fault._

“Not your fault.”

Tony jerks in surprise, quickly yanking his hands away from the wound so his flinch wouldn’t jostle the kid. “Okay, Peter. Whatever you say.”

“‘S weird. Sounds like you’re talking right in my head.” Peter winces, pressing the heel of a bloody palm against his eyes. “Kinda hurts.”

Guilt rears up Tony’s throat. “Sorry, kid. I’ll try to, uh, not think? As much as that’s possible, of course. And Bruce’ll be here in a minute. He’ll patch you up and then fix whatever it is that… _this_ is. Don’t worry.”

He hopes that he crushes the thought of _at least, I hope so_ before it can get to the kid.

\--

As it turns out, trying to comfort a teenager when said teenager can hear every thought you have about him is pretty fucking impossible.

“Your healing factor is already repairing the deepest damage, which is good and bad.” Bruce explains, pulling on gloves. “It’s good for obvious reasons, but it’s bad because the nerve endings are already repairing, which means this is, uh, going to hurt.”

_Shit._ Fear lights through Tony, hot and vivid, and Peter’s eyes whip instantly over to meet his. The billionaire doesn’t have to be able to hear his thoughts to get the message

_Mister Stark is scared. I should be scared too, right?_

“It’s fine, Peter.” He reassures, moving close enough to that the kid’s outstretched arms could latch onto him. “Bruce’ll go quick. Right, Brucie?”

“Of course.” The scientist picks up a bottle of antiseptic and directs his next words to Peter. “Let me or Tony know if you need a break, alright?”

Peter’s voice is meek. “Alright.”

This time, Tony specifically aims his thoughts at the kid. _You’ll be fine, buddy. Just hang onto me and try not to think about it._

The first splash of antiseptic makes Peter jerk so violently that Tony has to grab the hospital bed for support. Bruce apologizes quickly but doesn’t relent, methodically working through cleaning every inch of the damaged tissue. Peter gasps and chokes his way through it, managing to stay surprisingly still after the shock of the first wave of pain recedes, even once Bruce starts debriding the dead tissue.

Tony murmurs gently to him the whole time. “That’s it. Nice and easy, kiddo. You’re doing great. Just a little longer and you’re done.”

Peter lets out a particularly strained whimper, and Tony has to choke down a cry of his own.

_I wish I’d never met him. I wish he wasn’t Spider-Man._

Peter’s eyes widen as he pulls away from his mentor’s stomach. The shirt sticks to his face briefly, tears having soaked through the thin fabric. He forces his words out between harsh pants. “R-Really?”

He swallows, sparing a quick glance to where Bruce was preparing to give the wound one last round of antiseptic before bandaging it up. “Sometimes, buddy.”

The kid’s lip wavers. “‘M sorry.”

_Oh no. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I can’t stand it when you cry._ “No, Peter. It’s got nothing to do with you. Or, at least, nothing to do with anything that you can control.”

The kid seems to hop right over what Tony _actually_ said in favor of what he thought. “You don’t like it when I cry?”

“Of course I don’t.”

The kid blinks, pupils still blown from the slowly healing concussion. “Why?”

Tony swallows. How is he supposed to say this? “I just don’t.”

His thoughts betray him, as they’ve gotten into the habit of recently. _No parent wants to see their child in pain._

“You feel like you’re my-” Peter cuts himself off with a strangled gasp as Bruce runs an antiseptic swab over the worst of the burn, and Tony brushes a thumb over his temple while shushing him gently, “my, uh, my parent?”

_Well, fuck._ “Sometimes, kid. I can stop if that makes you uncomfortable.”

“No.” Peter says quickly, then blushes. “It’s, uh, it’s fine.”

Thankfully, Bruce interrupts the awkward moment before it can progress. “Alright, Peter. I’ve put a simple bandage over the burn. Just be careful with it until it heals, and let me know if you have any sharp pain or unusual discharge. You’ll want to change the gauze out every couple of hours and let the wound air when you can.”

“So he’s good?” At Bruce’s nod, Tony plows forward. “So what can you tell us about the, uh,” he spares a glance down at the kid and lets a fond smirk tug up the corner of his mouth, “Force bond mojo?”

“It must have had something to do with the blast that knocked both of you out.” Bruce explains, frowning intensely at one of the many monitors scattered around the lab. “It’s opened some sort of channel, but from what both of you told me, it’s a one-way street. Whenever you have any sort of internal dialogue involving him, it opens that channel and he can hear it.”

Peter sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as if to stand, and winces, arm curling around his side protectively. Exasperation flares through Tony’s chest. _I told you to stay still, Peter._

Almost instantly, the kid sinks back into the bed. “Sorry, Mister Stark.”

_Right. Hearing all my thoughts. Awesome._

“It’s okay, squirt. Just try to rest up for me, okay?”

_Please, buddy. You scared the ever-loving shit out of me back there._

Peter’s entire face softens, and he somehow sinks an ocean’s worth of sincerity into his two-syllable reply. “Okay.”

Tony turns back to Bruce with a lump of emotion in his throat, trying desperately to still his thoughts. “So how do we fix it?”

The scientist shrugs. “I think it should wear off on its own, but I’m not sure. I can’t even pinpoint what’s causing it. This is beyond me.”

“Awesome.”

“If it’s still a problem in a few days, or if anything wonky happens with either of you, we’ll try to get a hold of Thor. Otherwise,” Bruce gives him a sympathetic shrug, “there’s not much I can do.”

Tony sighs. _Of course._

\--

They feed Peter’s aunt an excuse about a weekend training retreat so that the kid can stay with Tony until both the burn and the whole ‘hearing every single one of Tony Stark’s thoughts’ situation gets cleared up.

When Peter curls into Tony’s side while they’re watching a movie that night, the billionaire doesn’t even try to stop him. He just tugs him close, disregarding the sea of empty cushion to their right, and reminds himself that his kid is fine. His kid is here. His kid is safe.

_“_ Stop worrying about me.”

Tony’s breath whooshes out in the mimic of a laugh. “I’d say I’m not, but you’d know I’m lying.”

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You always know when I’m lying, and you’re not even in my head.”

Peter wins himself a real laugh, this time. It rumbles through Tony’s stomach and up into his chest. It’s the kind of laugh that only his kid can ignite. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”

“Like I said, ‘s annoying.”

The teenager yawns, fingers loosening slightly on his mentor’s t-shirt. Tony rubs serpentines across his lower back. “Go to sleep, kiddo. I’ll try to keep my thinking to a minimum.”

“I don’ mind.” Peter snuggles into his side, doe eyes staring up at him with a tangle of starlight and galaxies. “It’s kind of nice, having you in my head. Means you’re always there.”

_You don’t need weird alien mojo to make sure I’m always there, Peter._

“Mm. I know.” Peter’s breaths puff comfortingly against his collarbone. “Always there.”

“Yeah, buddy. That’s my job, alright? To annoy you until the end of time.”

_And to keep you safe. Always to keep you safe._

“‘M always gonna be here too, y’know.” Even though he’s already half-asleep, the kid shakes his head lazily and tries to blink himself awake. Tony is so overwhelmed by affection that his brain short-circuits for a second. “You worry about it, but you shouldn’t. ‘N you can’t deny it, because I _know_ you’ve been thinking it.”

He pauses, studying every inch of the kid’s face as he constructs his response. “You’re a really good kid, Pete. I don’t regret meeting you. Maybe I should, but I don’t.”

“Mm. Ditto.”

_You’re such a dork._

_“_ I know.”

“Alright,” Tony laughs, pulling the throw blanket spread across their legs higher and smoothing a hand down Peter’s back, “less eavesdropping and more sleeping.” He pauses, uncertain. “Goodnight, little one.”

“G’night.”

_I love you, Peter. More than you could ever possibly understand._

A dopey smile curls across his kid’s face. The words are muffled by the fabric of Tony’s shirt and slurred with sleep, but he hears them just as clearly as if Peter was the one in _his_ head. “Love you too, Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me, deciding whether or not to throw in that “little one” and “Dad” at the end: hmmm…. You know what? Fuck it. It’s her birthday.


End file.
